


Brooding at the Bar

by RealtaCuardach



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Decisions, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:50:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealtaCuardach/pseuds/RealtaCuardach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine has always been a man of action. But what he has just learned has led him to a secluded spot in his favorite bar as he agonizes over what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brooding at the Bar

The man at his usual post at the corner of the bar raised one hand amidst the chaos that surrounded him, and signaled for a drink. The bartender nodded in response, sliding a mug brimming with ale towards the other man who caught it with a motion that had been perfected through years of practice.

It was all very normal for Sir Gwaine when he came drinking in the Rising Sun, but the bartender noticed with a frown that something seemed different about the knight that evening. For one, he had not come in with any of the other knights or with the young man with the ragged neckerchief. That in itself wasn't the strangest thing, as Gwaine was uninhibited in talk whether he was drunk or not, never having a problem with going up to complete strangers and starting a boisterous conversation. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't talking, instead keeping to himself in the corner of the bar. Maybe it was because he had barely responded to the ale sloshing over his fingers as he caught the mug, where he usually would have tilted back his head and roared with laughter.

But mostly it was the look of sheer emptiness as he stared into the full tankard of ale, making no effort to drink it.

That was the strangest thing. The bartender looked at him curiously, picking up a rag and cleaning one of the tankards with it. In fact, he didn't think he had seen Gwaine take more than a few sips that night – and he usually gulped ale down like it was water – and he hadn't finished any of the tankards he'd ordered . They had all been knocked down to the ground in bar fights that Gwaine had not joined or even reacted towards.

"You all right?" The bartender asked conversationally, wiping the glass a bit harder than was necessary.

Gwaine shook himself from his stupor and gave the bartender a rakish smile that, while considerably dimmer than his usual smirks, was enough to make two barmaids in the corner swoon. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

The bartender opened his mouth and then shut it. If the man wanted to talk, he would talk – and talk and talk. It wasn't his business to push into the customers' personal business unless they told him in the freeness of booze. But it was hard to keep from getting involved when the man looked like he had lost his best friend.

Gwaine's fingers curled around the handle of the tankard and tightened, but he made no effort to lift the ale to his lips. His mind was racing so quickly it made him dizzy and far more disoriented than _any_ amount of alcohol had ever managed to accomplish.

He had always prided himself on being a man of action, but with what had just happened … he didn't know what to do.

It had been the usual: another day, another patrol, another evil creature trying to take out Arthur and/or Camelot. It was really an almost boring day if Gwaine didn't fully enjoy the rush of adrenaline that pulsed through his veins as he flung himself into battle. So when the beast let out an enormous roar that shook the earth and swiped its spiked tail in a motion that knocked all of the knights down, Gwaine thought that he really should have expected that. Same old, same old.

As usual, everyone was knocked out, but Gwaine had managed to shake the haziness from his head more quickly than usual and looked around with a dazed smirk on his face. They really needed to have a heart-to-heart with their resident princess about how helmets were supposed to _prevent_ concussions from having.

He shakily pulled himself up on one elbow, and then his heart stopped as he saw the lanky form of his best friend walking up to the great beast.

_The faithful, brave idiot! He didn't have enough combat training to actually take down a beast._

Gwaine attempted to scramble to his feet, but the waves of dizziness were too much and he fell back to the earth with a subdued puff of air. _Merlin,_ he yelled in his mind, _get back! Save yourself!_

But any words that might have actually made it to his throat died as he saw Merlin raise his arms with a fluid, natural movement and mutter some strange words. The younger man's eyes blazed gold even as a torrent of blue and silver flame burst from his palms and engulfed the creature. Gwaine suddenly couldn't breath again.

Magic. Merlin had _magic_.

When Merlin looked around after having slayed the beast, checking the surroundings to make sure that the knights had come through the ordeal relatively unharmed, Gwaine, much to his shame, had closed his eyes and pretended to be unconscious. It was the coward's way out, but he didn't want that confrontation…not then. Not while his mind was trying to reconcile the forbidden concept of magic with the clumsy, faithful, honorable Merlin…

Lot's kingdom did not outwardly loathe magic the way that Camelot did under Uther's rule, but instead treated it with the utmost caution. Never trust a man who conceals his weapon. Gwaine had had learned that lesson all too well when he'd struck it out on his own. One of his deepest and most painful scars had come from turning his back on a seemingly old beggar who seemed completely defenseless until the man had pulled a dagger from beneath his rumpled tunic, stabbing it into the younger man's back before stealing the few coins in his pouch.

He knew there was more to Merlin than met the eye … but he had never guessed that Merlin had …

It was only because of the collective exhaustion felt by the bruised and battered knights that no one mentioned Gwaine's uncharacteristic silence on the ride back to Camelot. He barely registered Merlin's retelling of what had happened, with Arthur and the collective knights' efforts being what had brought the creature down. If he hadn't been so dazed, he would have laughed. Even that excuse was the same – how could he not have seen it before? Were they all that blind?

It hadn't taken too long after they'd returned to Camelot for Gwaine to accept the truth. Merlin had magic. Merlin was magic. Merlin had probably saved their hides even more than Gwaine had realized.

But most of all, Merlin was his friend, magic or not. And he would stand by him.

However, once the acceptance had sunk in, Gwaine was besieged in fear. What were they going to do?

He wasn't going to turn in Merlin, the idea was absolutely ridiculous. But it was too much to hope for that Arthur would never find out … and if he did, Gwaine wasn't sure he wanted to be ruled by such a dim king anyway. For all of his retorts and backtalk, Gwaine truly had come to respect the young king, and although his loyalty was directly linked to Merlin, he meant the pledge of fealty he had sworn. So now he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Arthur had already shown himself to be a far greater king than his father so Gwaine hoped that he wouldn't let the indoctrinated fear of magic cloud his judgment. He would think that Arthur would eventually accept Merlin for what he was, although he was equally certain that there would be a breach cut by angry words between the two before that happened.

But what if he was wrong? What if Arthur lost his head over this, and ordered that Merlin would then lose his? He would be forced to watch his greatest friend die in ignominy and pain.

He could _not_ let that happen.

His heart sank at the thought of having to defend Merlin from Arthur, but he knew that he would have to if it came to down to that. But how would he do it? Being king, Arthur had all of Camelot at his disposal. If he truly wanted to destroy Merlin, Arthur had far more resources to do so than Gwaine had to save him.

Should Gwaine smuggle Merlin out of the city now, to avoid the trouble later? Would he have to fight his brother knights to keep Merlin from the executioner's block? Would they give him a second chance, an extra moment to escape? Merlin was their brother, too. Surely they wouldn't let that fear destroy the relationships they'd held with him. He wished he knew.

If he knew anything for certain, it was that _nothing_ was certain.

It was for the purpose of puzzling out a strategy for saving Merlin should the worst happen that Gwaine had retreated to his usual bar, far from the distractions of the other knights, the king, or that particularly distracting chambermaid who made eyes at him whenever she saw him. Shrouded in the cacophony of drunken voices and the smell of spilled ale, he hid from the world and desperately thought of plans. But anything he thought of fell into nothing and he was close to indulging in drunken tears, a sight not unseen in a bar but certainly unseen in him.

Someone sat on the stool beside him and spoke. "Hey, Gwaine?"

Gwaine froze at the voice. The voice of the person he had been avoiding most of all while he was trying to get his head on straight. He turned and looked at the newcomer. "Hey, mate."

Merlin grinned at him and leaned back on his stool. "Arthur's been looking for you – something about briefing about helmets?" He shrugged, "I hope it's not about making them heavier – they're hard enough to polish as is!" He laughed, then said, "I figured I'd find you here – at least this time I didn't have to look in every tavern in Angerd."

It was an old joke, and they both laughed. However, Gwaine's laugh didn't boom as it normally did, and Merlin's eyes narrowed slightly in concern. "You all right?" he asked, "I thought something might have been wrong when we were coming back, but when I tried to find you … you weren't in the castle."

Gwaine might have known that Merlin would have picked up on that … and would then try to make things better. He was a good man. "Yeah, everything's fine," or at least it would be. They'd figure something out.

"If you're sure," Merlin said skeptically, "then we'd better get going. Shall we?"

Gwaine grinned at him. "You got to say the magic words."

Merlin froze and stared at him, emotions fleeing across his face in a blur. Gwaine maintained the smile, but he was sure that Merlin could see the seriousness and the silent promise in his eyes. Merlin let out a small sound that was half gasp and half relieved laughter and looked at his friend with gratitude. "Please?"

Gwaine stood up and clapped a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Of course. You know I'll follow you anywhere."

And really, that was all that needed to be said.


End file.
